We Don't Wash Off
by Darkaus
Summary: You see when I go home, and wash this face off... I don't go down the drain with it. I 'Stay,' and you, you... you think you can just take that mask off? No-no, that's, that's insane You can't go back, Batman... It's far too late.


**Author's note:** I do not own the Batman Franchise or movies, nor do I own the respective characters of the Batman or the Joker. Phew, now that that's out of the way…  
This is inspired by the dramatic characterization of the two staring character in the Batman Returns medium. They make me happy! This can tie in to the other Batman story I've written, happening either before or after it. Makes no difference I suppose. Please read and review, because I want to hear your opinions and know what you think! With all that said please enjoy.

"…And here, we, Go!" Joker

* * *

It started before he even opened his eyes, myriads of colors and sounds swirled around drowning his conscious, barraging him like a dozen televisions on different channels. The news was there, reminding him that he had obligations to keep. CSI blazed out that the police had their hands full with something they just couldn't understand… The cooking channel was on, reminding him that if he didn't eat soon he'd make himself sick, and right beside that was lawn and gardening giving him the strangest urge to blow up a grill.  
That was just silly. It could wait until the weekend.  
His muscles were stiff, almost painfully so, so he knew he'd gone to sleep watching the sports channel replay scenes from earlier in the week. It had been an epic game; the out of towner Clowns vs. the Gotham Bats. Somewhere under all this he thought to himself, (you know, television is a terrible artistic representation for all these thoughts. I only watch the thing when I'm on it, why would I think like one?)

Then his eyes open, and just like that, the millions of scattered fragments arrange themselves into a highly malleable mass of consciousness. Yes he's stiff, and hungry, and almost dehydrated, but more than that he's excited. Still, he's tired now... almost to the point of closing his eyes again, letting the present slip away. No, no-no-no, that's too dangerous here. He has to savor this. This chance may never come again; scratch that, Will Never Come Again.

He had been taken captive by the swat team after the ferry fiasco. Now he was being held in impromptu accommodations. The cage he was in had actually been welded around him, a nice touch. He was bound hand and foot with unforgiving steel that chilled his wrists where it dug in, and bound to the chair he sat on by everything but his neck. They couldn't risk him strangling of course… no matter how much they'd like to. He could hear the security camera's moving, knew that someone was watching them at all times. The perimeter of the building was probably under concealed guard that rotated every hour or so. They'd pulled out all the stops to keep him secure until they were sure they could safely transport him to Arkham Asylum. They'd fail. For now though he'd let them slap each other's backs, keep their moral up.

But he didn't stop smiling.

And despite this, all the security and manpower and surveillance, He had still come. The caped crusader, his and Gotham's own Batman stood on the other side of the bars. After the incident at the station this was the only logical course of action for his opponent to take. People did insist on being logical. Batman would check in on him until his convoy was prepared.

He can feel the other's eyes on him even now, boring into his face. It's almost flattering, all this attention being paid and here he was, just sitting. He didn't even have to entertain the man. If this kept up it might spoil him.  
No… he would enjoy this, let his adversary struggle and remain silent instead of voicing the questions that he was sure echoed in the man's mind. He wondered if 'Why?' was among them. People always want to know why, they can never accept that the inevitable answer is 'because.'

But maybe this time that wasn't a question even considered. Deep at the core, hidden under the armor and skin, Batman understood. One side of a coin is not unfamiliar with its partner. If anyone understood it would be his other half.

He is, sane. Painfully sane right now, so that if he wasn't sure that Batman was watching him this would be horribly boring. No one likes being understimulated, and in particular it tended to make him short tempered and snappish. He Is Sane. More-so than most… this was probably in and of itself the root of all his problems.

For a moment he imagined, he often had, if the world was full of people like himself. People awake and aware, fiercely independent, doers, not schemers. A different world where people understood that they were people, and as such were free to act like animals without the fear of becoming one. Where might didn't make right, it made Progress.  
He smiled at these thoughts, this was a dream impossible, a vision skewed through a broken mirror. In this reality, in this world, things might be as they should be but they would also be dull. Breaking a rule had no value if there was no rule, or punishment instated for it. A rat won't run a race unless there's a reward at the end of the maze. People clung to their rules and morals and yes, even fears, because they were terrified of the unknown beyond them. Even the scum of the earth appreciated the system that the small and meek hoped so hard would endure.

No crash, no high. No risk, no gain. In a world where everyone was like himself no one, not even him, would want to go on living. And he intended to live and enjoy every moment for a long, long time.

Forever… that was what he'd said, 'I can see us doing this, forever.' What a thought, what a simple, gleeful thought. Fighting forever, planning forever, playing with a partner who would never tire, never give in, never break. He'd waited all his life for this, hadn't he? Hard to say, a time before this wasn't worth mentioning. Batman was like a cliff overlooking a vast, grassy plain. And he was a fire, ravaging that field, licking at the mountains heels, scorching it but never burning through. He loved being fire.

Fire was exciting, moving, yes… even spiritual. Had man ever ceased to worship fire?

"Will you accept the treatment?" It's not a question so much; it feels more like an order. Still Batman was talking now… in that fake, raspy way of his, and that deserved some reward to encourage the behavior. He smiled, licked the corner of a dry lip. Oh and they were dry now... the paint was flaking. His tone in reply, despite some effort to be more encouraging, was droll.

"Why. Why would I allow some doctors, trapped in their own little worlds, to drug me, drive me crazy, and trap me in mine?"

"You need help Joker. You're sick." (Now-now-now... lets mind each-others feelings Batman...)

" No I'm not, I'm not… stop looking at me through a microscope hoping to find clues that aren't there. I'm fine as I am just as much as you are. Individuality… is something to be encouraged. We've figured that out but you… you're still trying to pretend that when you go home and take that costume off you become one of them again. You can't go back now Batman… you'll never be what you were, again. Before you changed the game you changed yourself."

"…"

"When I, listen, you'll understand this I think. Just apply it to yourself. When I go home… and I wash my face for the night, I don't wash down the drain with the paint, you see? I stay here. So do you. We don't see the word through different eyes when there's nothing over them."

"I put on this mask to help people, it's a tool!"

"Don't fool yourself, you're better than that! Don't do it in front of me, at least, it's embarrassing. You didn't do this for them Batman, you did it for you."

"You don't--!"

(No Batman, no… I understand completely.) He lets Batman protest; they both know he's not saying anything of real importance.

(You'll hate me, hound me, chase me and dig me out. You'll batter me, scream at me, (with the way you talk that will hurt you more than me,) try to make me break. You'll wish you'd never seen me, you'll feel responsible for me, for what I do. You'll want to kill me, and be unable to, because if you do… I win. And you'll miss me when you score a point and put me away for awhile. ) Underneath the blindfold his eyes are bright, his eyes are understanding.

(You'll need me, because I… I complete, you.)

(I'm the proof that the sacrifices you make doing what you do are necessary. I'm the darkest scourge to grace your door and remind you why this was important in the first place. I'm the re-occurring problem you'll thrive on, learn from. Our games will keep you alive when less dedicated players; they will come, I know, enter the game.

I will always be the first. I will always linger when you go out at night, when you put on that armor. Yes, I'll be there. And when you drive that wonderful tank, running others off the road, you'll think of me and that night. Every time you lose it will be an addition to your first crushing defeat, with me. Every time you win I promise to clap for you.

Forever, Batman. I'll be here, as long as you need me. As long as you play at night, and I… I who need this just as much as you… oh I'll be there. And we'll do this until the fate that made us what we are pulls us apart, taking one away.

If you die first I might follow you, there'd be no need to stay.  
I'd go to your funeral at least, make them bury you in full costume and let the world wonder who you were. Maybe I'll be the only witness to that burial; maybe I'll put you under the sod with these two, cunning, killing hands.  
With the city of course.  
I don't intend to throw a big funeral for you, I don't do plans, but you can expect lots of company on the other side. That would be fitting for you, wouldn't it? The city we fought for could be your tomb. Of course it was never about the city...)

Silence stretches between them. Once again it is the Batman who breaks it.

"...It's allmost time. Accept the treatment Joker; it's your only hope. Maybe your therapy will involve proper paint usage."

"He-he ha heh-ho-ho he ha-hoo-ho ah… hah… ha. That, that was bad." The fakely exaggerated laugh is smothered here. The acoustics here are off, and he can't tell where the sound isn't coming back from.

His company has fallen silent again. Only the throbbing in his own blood assures him that he's not alone. He closes his eyes, waiting, he can't get comfortable at all. Discomfort is nothing and no real problem for him. It's an old companion. But his neck is sore, and cracking it, just his neck, would make his mood improve a great deal. There's no way to accomplish it now. Unless…

"…Batman, while you're standing there, pondering if you should keep your day job… let me use your hands."

"What do you want, Joker." (Ah, that tone… it says, 'I'm not going to give you an advantage. I'm not going to help you do anything dangerous.' Such little trust. He should know by now that he, he… he is really the only safe person in Gotham.)

"I can't crack my neck." He lets it sit a moment, no response. Becoming frustrated quickly he lets out a low growl of "Argh…" tries again to fix it himself. "I want, I want you to reach in, and crack it." A moment's pause, then softer, calmly, "Please."

He listens to the silence, judges the others reaction. The silence is not unexpressive, there's unease there, and hesitation. There's the self righteous 'why should I?' And the queer compassion that might stir him towards a small act of mercy. Maybe even a little guilt? The new scar that Batman left on his neck that night with the ferries is visible even in this light. He's sure of it.

"…Alright."

He can hear Batman move around the cage, he shivers, his pulse skyrockets from the uncertainties. This might hurt, and he is stiff now. Real damage could be done. Batman may lose control here alone, unseen. He might decide to settle a score, release some aggression, add some bruises. He feels the hands, covered in something… (what is that material?) They settle on either side of his face. He keeps his breaths steady, holds himself still. God he wants to test him, push him, provoke him into loosing composure, letting lose the beast. He wants him to hurt him, hurt him! Hah! Batman couldn't hurt him. Nothing actually, 'hurt,' pain was a tool... pain... it taught you things. Through making others cause pain you learned about them. People can't hide themselves when they kill each other, no... they are brutally honest. All he wanted was for Batman to be honest with him, straightforward, clear. But that was hard to accomplish. People wearing masks can't be expected to give things away, that would be… foolish. The word foolish did not apply to Batman.

Despite the Batmans efforts he'd seen it anyway, that honesty. And it was perfect... and cruel. They were exactly the same, deep, deep down. Something rare burned in both their cores, something darker ran in their veins. To be with another like himself... he shivers at the thought of seeing that again. Oh they will have fun. But now the hands take hold; firm, though not unkindly so.

For a moment as he's held, tied up and disgustingly vulnerable in his enemy's, surprisingly warm, hands, the Joker's eyes shut and he goes almost limp. There's something to this as well, a peace in this utter lack of control, unexpected and so very rare… peace.  
He could sleep like this, with nothing but an understanding of a misunderstood trust separating him from a quick end in unflattering circumstances. But he's safe now, he's sure. In Batman's hands he's safer than he would be in any building, madhouse or prison. But only because of circumstance, because of the bars. Things will change when they're gone, no question about that. Batman won't like his freedom one, tiny, bit.  
For just this moment life is perfect. This is what he came here for. The hunt, the chase, the clashing and the killing and most of all... moments like this. Moments like the interrogation, the battle over the ferries, the varying excitements… that's all any man could ask for, really. He was only human, savoring these small reminders that tell him that he's alive after all and unspokenly encourage him to keep on living.

He almost sighed, it was like falling...

The hands tilted his neck to just the right angle, cracked it, cracked it again. Instant relief from the annoyance of tight muscles added to the strange languidness seeping through him and forced the sigh out. Then Batman was gone, honestly gone.

He could hear why; cars were pulling up outside, orders were being shouted beyond the doors. It was time. He opened his eyes, leaned forward, let the smile grow.

... ... ...

On a rooftop some distance off Batman watched the convoy move away from the building, followed it with his eyes until the last of the taillights rounded the corner. He knew things now he hadn't before this madness; it was knowledge that threatened to change him. (You can't wash it off…) laughed the clown, (Don't lie to me… you can't wash it off…)  
The city swept to the sky around them both, and swallowed them. The moonlight reflected from the water along with the glow of electric lights, its pulse, and all characters faded into the hum of downtown silence. Life carried on.


End file.
